Dawson and Dyl, were both 3+ when the were potty trained, which was fine with me. I am a firm believer in the convenience of diapers. One day, each of the boys just decided it was time to be toilet trained and we've never looked back. There were no tears, no public accidents, no private accidents, no trying to make them pee on Cheerios in the toilet, it was wonderful.

I was shocked when a few months ago, at about 20 months I went looking for Emma and there she was sitting on the toilet, going to the bathroom. She started saying "potty," when she needed to go, and has done quite well.

We are now having a novelty toilet issue. It doesn't matter if she just went to the bathroom, if we are at Smith's, or a restaurant, or she sees the port-o-potty at our new house, all of a sudden she has to go potty. As thrilled as I am about her almost being potty trained, I am not a big fan of public restrooms, or being taken advantage of by a 2 year old. I end up taking her every time, but she only produces results about 10% of the time. I am not sure which is worse, not taking her and risking an accident, or taking 15 minutes during each errand, while she sits on the toilet smiling and exploring her new surroundings, while I try to keep her fast little hands out of the used tampon bin.

I am constantly surprised at how smart she is, and how fast she picks things up. Although I have seen the inside of every public restroom of every store I have been in for the last 5 months, she still melts my heart while she's sitting there kicking her feet and saying, "Love you the most, Mom."

It's a Hard Knock Life...

I don't consider myself a big crier, or someone who gets stressed out very easily. I can probably count on both hands the number of times I have recognized being "stressed out" in my life. The last 2 houses that we have built would probably account for five to seven of those times, which is part of the reason we decided never to build again, yet here we are.

On our last house, Dave and I did an incredible amount of the work, although we are not very compatible in our construction styles. He is a perfectionist. For example, all the screws are pointing the same direction and you could put a level to them and they would be even. I, on the other hand, tend to believe in the "good enough, for who it's for" route. At one point in our last house, Dave was yelling out measurements for the stair treads, like 17 3/4 or whatever. I would find the 17, and then add a little and cut the board, good enough. After the second board was way off, I think we hollered loud enough at each other, that it got the neighbors a little worried. Eventually, the issue boiled down to me not being very good with fractions, so I stopped crying and swearing, and Dave ended up giving me the measurements in 16ths, like 17 and 15/16ths. That way I could count the tiny little lines, and it all worked out.

This house has been a little different. I have not been as hands on with this house, mostly because we have kids now and we learned from the last time. However, this house is driving me insane, and I noticed today that I am officially stressed out. The signs were vague, but by the time it was noon and I had already cried 4 times, I figured it out. I am not a crier. I only cry over a few things like, when I am super pissed off, if I see running horses, and when I am really tired. I didn't even cry when Dave proposed to me. I think it went something like this. Dave:" Will you marry me?" Me:"Ooh, I think I am going to cry." Dave:"No you're not." Me:"Oh yeah, I'm not."

Anyway, first thing this morning, the dryer officially died. Now, I own three dryers, and I am still going to have to go to the frickin' laundromat. When we moved into this dreaded rental, they only had an electric hook-up, so we bought a used electric dryer. It has been a nightmare, and after it wouldn't work this morning, even after I turned the breaker off and on, and tilted it to one side and all the other tricks we have had to do to get it to run. I kicked the crap out of it, and sat down and cried. I might be stressed out.

My next move was a beeline to the Chevron, for an enormous Diet Coke. I guarantee, if I drank any alcohol at all, I would be an alcoholic. I am constantly drowning my sorrows in perfectly proportioned Cherry Coke to Diet Coke fountain goodness. After loading up Emma and Dyl, I pulled out onto Main Street and watched in my rear view mirror as my delicious Diet Coke fell off the top of my car and ran all the way down my windows. I pulled back into the parking lot and cried. I might be stressed out.

Driving over to Park City for some retail therapy, I was half listening to Annie, the movie my kids are currently obsessed with, and when Daddy Warbucks, decided to adopt Annie, I lost it again. I was sobbing like a baby. Usually when they watch that show, I just fantasize about getting my hands on some little cleaning orphans who could make my house shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. But not today, I think I am stressed out.

Thank goodness for my SIL, DeAnn. We went to lunch at Don Pedro's which pretty much cures anything, and although I still have 3 weeks left before my house is done, I have a lot to be grateful for, and I realized I need to just pull myself together.

Highlights of My Day

1- I almost got every word right on beat with Snoop D-O-Double-G, and Dre going down the canyon this am. I had to listen to Ain't Nuthin' But a G-Thang about 10 times because it had been awhile. Despite filling my brain with gansta rap, I used great self-restraint in only giving one middle finger, and cutting down my horn use to twice. Anyone who has driven Foothill at 8:45 will understand this. Baby steps....

2- I drove through the valet area and found a great spot in the patient parking. My bass was still pounding and I was still rapping away. I sat in my car for a few minutes, with the music up really loud, in order to pump myself up to go into the hospital. I was feeling pretty good until I stepped outside of my car and felt someone watching me. I turned around and there was a big black dude just staring at me. I sheepishly smiled and gave him a little wave, but he just shook his head at me and walked away. Whatever. I have every bit as much right to enjoy Compton and Long Beach, now you know we in trouble.

3- My first patient of the day, was schizo-affective, unmedicated, and a self-proclaimed "Warrior in a war of wars against Homeland security...." and something about cats that I can't remember. I asked him to get undressed and gave him a gown, and he immediately stopped rambling and said, "You look like a gal I could get naked with and take to my mansion for some lovemaking." I gave him a stern lecture on what is appropriate and what is not, but inside I was smiling. At my age, and after having 3 children, I have stopped considering the source when accepting compliments.

4- My new boyfriend, the "Warrior," was quite possibly the foulest smelling person I have ever come in contact with, especially after I removed his shoes and socks. It warmed my heart to see Lani, one of the nurses who was assigned the station outside of his room, hyper-spritzing the odor neutralizer and dry heaving every time the door opened. She was giving me some nasty glares, as if I could control his odor, and she is dang lucky the Security guards wouldn't give me the "Warrior's" socks, because they were going right into her purse. Love you Lani.

5- While working with another patient the charge nurse came across my radio to inform me that the aforementioned "Warrior" had cold cocked Nick, one of my favorite techs, and was subsequently restrained. Restrained is the nice way of saying, "We tied up your patient and now you have a crap load of paperwork to fill out." The paper work sucked, but I got a lot of mileage out of making jokes at Nick's expense for the next 11 hours.

6- At 3:00, I finally got to go downstairs for some lunch. I was excited that the sandwich station was still open, except the regular sandwich ladies were not there. I asked for a sandwich on wheat bread, while she was taking the bread out of the sack, I made the mistake of asking her if she new how many calories were in the bread. An innocent question, but it led to this exchange. Thank goodness for the language barrier and sneeze guard.

Sandwich Lady: Are you on some sort of diet?
Me: No, my trainer says it is a lifestyle change.
S.L.:I used to big like you. (she is an tiny little Indonesian lady, maybe 75 lbs.)
Me: I doubt that, but thank you.
S.L.: You want mayo?
Me: No, just honey mustard, thanks.
S.L.: Oh! You making good choices! Wink
Me: Blink, Blink...
S.L.: I used to be huge! Back in Indonesia, I weighed something something kilos.
Me: Isn't that how they measure crack?
S.L.: What?
Me: What?
S.L.: You want cheese?
Me: Yes, please.
S.L: Oh, tsk tsk That is not good choice.
Me: I will kick your ass.
S.L.: What?
Me: What?
S.L.: You not have cheese. I help you.
Me: I could snap you like a twig.
S.L.: What?
Me: Whatever.

I learned long ago to pick your battles, and with only a 30 minute lunch break, I had to just cut my losses, and eat the healthy sandwich she prepared for me.

7- After lunch, I took a Brain Attack, and when I had him safely delivered upstairs, I came back to find that the "Warrior" was no longer in the ED. Yay!

8- I got out of the hospital precisely at 9:00, and walked the short distance to where I was illegally parked. No ticket Suckas! Today was a good day.

Emma is 2!

My baby turned 2 today! Emma has been such an easy baby! She is incredibly cuddly, and yet can still be rough and tumble with the boys. She continually surprises me with all the things she knows and says. She already knows all her letter sounds and is potty training. Her personality is enormous and she makes everyone around her fall in love with her. I am so grateful for her spirit in our house, and I am glad she is so close with her brothers. We took her crib down today, because she was standing on the bars and flipping herself into the crib to play. We love her so much!

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!

Having a kindergartner has opened my eyes to so many new things. Martin Luther King Jr. day used to be just another day I couldn't deposit checks, or get the mail. I never gave it a second thought until part of Dawson's homework entailed talking about M.L.K.J.
I asked him what he learned in school and he said that black people are supposed to sit in the front of the bus and drink from the short water fountains, because we used to make them sit at the back of the bus and drink from the big water fountains, and that M.L.K.J had a lot of dreams.
I straightened him out as best as I could and probably made things worse by using a jelly bean analogy about how we are all just delicious sugar with a different color candy shell. Dylan piped in with how much he hates black jelly beans, and Dawson started in on how dumb that was, because there aren't any pink or green people, and Emma started bawling for jelly beans.
I finally just said, " Heavenly Father loves everyone the same, no matter what. No more questions." I heard one of the boys in the back of the car say, "Mexicans are way better than us, 'cause they make such good food."

We headed down to Provo this morning to do a bunch of errands. I tried to drive through the bank on our way and cursed when it wasn't open. Dawson, who hates to go shopping, said "They are probably home celebrating M.L.K.J day, like we should be." So I asked him to enlighten me on the proper way to honor M.L.K.J. He said we should go home and play some Wii. Ahh, right. I explained that while the great Martin Luther King Jr. did not have a Wii, he most likely shopped in bulk for toilet paper, chicken, and lightly salted edamame, just as we were going to, and that I also had a dream, that they would not make it miserable while we did.

We ended up having a fine day at Costco, and decided to go to lunch at the Pizza Factory where Hannah works. She hooked the kids up with mass amounts of raspberry lemonade and before we left the Pizza Factory, Dawson was doubled over crying because of a terrible stomach ache. I took him to the bathroom and ordered him to poop so that he felt better. It always reminds me of my sweet Gram, when I tell someone to poop in order to feel better, whether it be at work or home. When I was growing up, my brother and I used to laugh all the time because her answer to everything was, "Have you had a B.M.?" We used to think it was ironic that her initials were B.M.
Anyway, Dawson felt a little better after he came out of the bathroom and described in graphic detail his experience for me and everyone waiting to be seated. The usual hour drive home took a little over an hour and a half, as Dawson had to bolt out of the car every 10 minutes. We were stopped at Deer Creek for about 15 minutes when Dawson finally came out of the bathroom and said that he would make it all the way home now, because he asked Heavenly Father to stop his diarrhea.
I may not explain things very well, but my kids have a good chance of turning out alright in spite of me.

Zoo Day

Here's the dealio. I hate winter. I hate the cold, and snow. I hate being cooped up in an old rental house with 2 wild youngsters coming down off the Christmas high, and 1 potty trainee. We needed to get out today, because I am just not having as much fun anymore beating the boys in game after game of Operation, and I felt my karma might be suffering from making a small mark on the Old Maid, so that I would never be duped again.
The zoo is a wonderful place to visit in the winter. The animals are more active, and you rarely see anybody else. The boys raced from one exhibit to the other, wearing each other out and laughing hysterically. Emma insisted on pushing her own stroller through the whole zoo and was completely pooped at the end of the day. Mission accomplished.

Car Conversations

Dawson stayed home from school today, because he has a sore throat and fever. I had to run into our new house to look at some stuff with Dave, so I left the kids in the car for a few minutes and when I came out, Dylan said, "Mom, I know how to spell, Ironman."
They have really taken an interest in how to spell superheros, so I said, "Alright, let's hear."
"P-O-O-P." he said, incredibly proud of himself.
"Uh, no." I looked in the rear view mirror and Dawson was staring out the window trying his hardest not to lose it. He started to laugh, when Dylan said, "You're wrong again Daws." He obviously isn't feeling sick enough.

We then headed up the road to the library, and had this conversation:

Dawson- "How old is Grandpa Randy?"
Me- "Like 56ish."
Dawson- " How old is Nana?"
Me- "She is the same age."
Dawson- " So they are pretty close to 100, and they aren't even dead yet? Good for them."